


Fit to be tied

by shovel_bunny



Category: The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Getting Together, M/M, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-16
Updated: 2013-09-16
Packaged: 2017-12-26 19:47:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,553
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/969600
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shovel_bunny/pseuds/shovel_bunny
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint Barton knows what he wants. So does Phil Coulson. With the aid of Phil's sartorial choices they both get what they need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fit to be tied

Clint takes a deep breath and carefully rolls his shoulders, one at a time, easing the dull ache that’s threatening to set in. Maintaining his steady focus down the scope of his rifle he lets his breathing return to it’s measured even rhythm, shifting his right foot minutely to ease the pressure where it’s wedged against the wall below the window. The corners of his mouth quirk up as, in the hotel room down and across the way from his nest, Coulson rolls his eyes upwards in fake despair when both goons who are holding him turn their backs on him simultaneously.

Clint grins, wishing Coulson had his earpiece in so that he could bitch about the frankly embarrassing incompetence on show; but it had been deemed an unnecessary risk so he’ll just have to make do with Coulson mugging for him to keep him entertained. Now, of course, in hindsight it’s perfectly obvious that Coulson could have been wearing a flashing neon sign proclaiming him to be a government agent and these two idiots wouldn’t have noticed. Clint sighs, hoping it won’t take much longer for Coulson to get the information he needs so they can get the hell out of here.

He marvels again at Coulson’s ability to transform himself from an agent totally in control of himself and his situation to the frightened mouse of a businessman in way over his head that he’s playing for this mission. The man deserves an Oscar for these performances. He watches as Coulson flinches and cowers away from the smaller of the two gorillas as he approaches the bed. Clint can easily read their lips through his scope and laughs out loud at the sheer inanity of the threats being shouted at the man restrained on the tiny single bed. Coulson stutters and panics, cringes and tries to tell them he doesn’t know anything, but all the time he’s winkling out little bits of information from his captors that they’ve no idea they’re giving away. Clint loves watching Coulson in action but even he has to admit that this is just too easy for the senior agent, it’s difficult to believe that anyone would trust anything of value to these two hopeless idiots. Just as he’s beginning to think this whole op may be a bust, that they’ve hooked the wrong fish, he sees the tiniest hint of satisfaction flash across Coulson’s face and he knows he’ll be getting his call any second.

Coulson’s left hand restrained at the top of the bed flashes the signal and Clint breathes out smoothly and fires, once, twice, waiting to make sure both men are down and properly tranqued before he stands and stretches out the kinks that the last hour or so have given him. He has his kit dismantled and packed up in under three minutes and he’s letting himself into Coulson’s room in under ten. 

He’s expecting Coulson to have freed himself from the restraints already and so he’s a bit taken aback when he eases the door open to find both men untidily collapsed where he dropped them and Coulson still laying across the rumpled bed, wrists and feet still trapped. Clint’s body works on autopilot to shut the door behind him, while his brain goes AWOL and his eyes catalogue the scene in front of him. 

Coulson looks utterly calm, as though he regularly ties himself spreadeagled to relax, he doesn’t wriggle or shift, just lays there and lets Clint take it all in. The goons have used rope to tie his ankles to the bed frame but cuffed his wrists to each corner with standard handcuffs and while Clint knows Coulson could have gotten out easily enough if necessary there’s no sense in dislocating your thumbs if you don’t need to. So, there’s a perfectly logical sensible reason for why Coulson is still restrained but Clint’s brain is trapped in a seemingly endless loop chanting, _Coulson’s tied to the bed_ , and generally doing a little dance of delight at this unexpected but oh so pleasant view. 

‘Nice work,’ Coulson says quietly nodding towards the crumpled idiots.

‘Anytime,’ Clint responds equally calmly, because if Coulson’s willing to ignore the fact that Clint’s just spent the last god knows how long ogling him, then Clint is very willing to work with that and ignore just how unprofessional it was. 

He finally gets to work and secures the sedated thugs, a lot more firmly than they had restrained Coulson. Clint is never sloppy in _his_ work thank you very much.

‘The one on the left should have an SD card in his inside jacket pocket,’ Coulson shakes his head in disbelief as he watches Clint find the card and tuck it away in one of the many securely hidden locations on his own person.

‘They really scraped the bottom of the barrel with these two eh, sir?’ Clint asks cheerfully as he checks their pulses and eyeballs. They’ll be out for a good few hours yet, no need to rush. ‘I was beginning to think it was a set-up to distract us from whoever really had the data and you were getting all mussed up for no reason,’ Clint smiles over at Coulson who still looks like he’s just taking it easy.

‘Hmm,’ Coulson thins his lips as he considers them, ‘I was expecting a little more professionalism from this particular mark but perhaps we overestimated his capacity for purchasing reliable associates at this early stage in the game.’

‘Not a problem SHIELD ever has, huh?’

‘Oh, I don’t know about that, Barton,’ Coulson responds with a wicked smile.

‘Nice!’ Clint gives Coulson his best wounded look, ‘I take these guys down before they’ve even had a chance to rough you up properly and this is all the thanks I get.’ He tries to keep the kicked puppy expression on his face as he crosses to the bed but the closer he gets to the rumpled agent the more he needs to fall back on his best neutral poker face.

Coulson’s eyes follow him without hesitation as he crosses the room, a small smile creasing the corners of his lips as he watches Clint.

Clint sits on the edge of the bed in the slim space not taken up by Coulson so he can get to both sets of handcuffs quickly. He realizes his mistake when he looks down and is confronted up close and personal with a rumpled Phil Coulson. His tie is askew and the top two buttons of his shirt have gone missing somewhere along the line when he was being yanked about. There are hints of bruising, reddened skin already edging into purple, across the agent’s face and his lip is split in the left corner where the thugs have slapped him around. But that mouth is still quirked up in amusement and his blue eyes are fixed firmly on Clint as he sits over him.

Clint takes a deep breath and stretches across to pick the handcuff on Coulson’s left wrist. As he does he hears a soft sound from beneath him and looks down to check that the other man is okay. Coulson is looking up at him with such fierce intensity in his eyes that it steals all the air from Clint’s lungs and paralyses him right there, locked in place over Phil Coulson, who is _tied down on this bed beneath him_ his brain reminds him helpfully. Coulson flicks his eyes to Clint’s mouth and back and lets out another soft little huff of breath. Clint is about two seconds from taking full advantage of this situation when his comm crackles to life with a demand for a status report.

Clint finally breathes out and then grins down at the man beneath him who rolls his eyes and huffs, ‘Well better get on with it then, Barton.’

Still grinning Clint focuses his attention back on the handcuffs whilst updating the agent in his ear and is proud of himself when he only chokes a little as Coulson mutters quietly, ‘We’ll finish this some other time,’ that wicked smile back again.

He gets the senior agent free quickly and tries not to watch too intensely as Coulson rubs the feeling back into chafed wrists and ankles while Clint cleans up the room for exit and tries to will his arousal away through pure force of will alone. There’s no further hint of the heat and tension between them as they finish the clean up and get back to base for debriefing and after a while Clint almost manages to forget Coulson’s promise about ‘another time’ because that’s the only way to maintain his sanity in the face of the senior agent’s perfectly professional conduct once the mission is completed. 

~~~~~

Clint grins at the crestfallen expressions on the junior agent’s faces as they listen to Coulson pointing out exactly where they went wrong in their most recent hand to hand assessments. He’s perfectly calm and patient, no disappointment or anger in his tone of voice or words but their expressions range from kicked puppy to sullen anger. Coulson just has that effect on people, he makes you want to do your best, be your best for him. Clint can empathize, he feels that way pretty much all the time himself and he’s been working with the agent as his preferred sniper for just under eighteen months now.

Coulson finishes his round up with a few well chosen words of praise, soothing ruffled feathers and putting a spring in the steps of the juniors who perk up and chat cheerfully amongst themselves as they collect their gear and wander out of the gym.

Clint stretches and moves to the edge of the mats where Coulson’s chatting to the other instructors. He spots Clint coming and quirks a smile in his direction while he finishes up arrangements for paperwork and deadlines. When he’s done, the others smile and toss greetings to Clint as they head out and the gym empties.

‘Help you with something, Barton?’ Coulson asks. Clint’s not sure how the man manages to look just as put together in sweats as he does in a suit, but he sure does.

Clint tilts his head hopefully at the recently vacated mats, ‘Thought you might like to work off a bit of the frustration dealing with the juniors always brings?’ He’s been a bit antsy all day himself and when he saw Coulson down as the last scheduled group for the day it seemed a good way to let off steam.

Coulson grins, ‘Oh yeah, Barton, I could do with working off some frustration on you,’ and Clint’s head goes to so many inappropriate places with that so fast he nearly chokes. Laughter dances in Coulson’s eyes as strips his sweatshirt off to leave himself in a close fitting short sleeved t-shirt that does nothing to help Clint regain his equilibrium. Damn the man, he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Clint’s never made any secret of his attraction to his handler, the first time he saw Coulson, at the end of an op gone sour, he’d taken one look at Coulson and _wanted_. Coulson may not be flashy but he’s an oasis of calm in what tends to be a very unstable world at SHIELD. Clint had seen an apparently unassuming man, well-built, radiating competence, strength and command all wrapped in a beautifully cut suit and he’d fallen in lust at first sight. He hadn’t hidden it, had flirted outrageously with Coulson expecting to get sharply slapped down. Instead Coulson had looked him over from head to toes and given Clint a smile so full of heat and promise that Clint hadn’t known what to do with himself and then demanded Clint as his sniper at every opportunity. 

Coulson is a man who knows what he wants and in the time he’s been working with him Clint has never seen him fail to get it by one means or another. Everything except Clint, that is. Clint knows he’s not mistaken, he knows what that look was and that Coulson is flirting back with him, he just isn’t sure why it hasn’t led to anything yet. Not that he’s too worried about it, he’s a sniper, he can do patience if the end result will be worth it. He has no doubt that it will be, that if Coulson brings all that focus and intensity to bear on him it will be worth everything and anything.

‘Ready?’ Coulson asks and Clint snaps back to attention. He grins as Coulson sends an easy-to-block right hook his way and dodges the sneaky left jab to the kidneys it was hiding. Coulson smirks at him and they get down to it properly. Clint always enjoys sparring with Coulson, SHIELD trains all of its agents well but Coulson brings a lot more than standard training to the mat. He’s downright sneaky and Clint’s learned some valuable moves from the older man.

They feint back and forth, breathing heavier and faster as they mix and match styles. Clint is heavier, carrying more muscle but he’s still fast and his acrobatic skills from the circus come in handy in close quarters, but Coulson is fast and limber and somehow never quite where he should be just when Clint thinks he has him. 

They’re both grinning as Clint darts in and tries to hook Coulson’s left leg while distracting him with a flurry of blows to his ribs and head. Phil chuckles as he blocks the attacks and counters with a hold and sweep that nearly takes Clint down. Clint dodges backwards laughing and shakes his head to clear the sweat - which is exactly when Coulson takes advantage of his fleeting inattention and takes him down to the mat with a beautifully timed and executed leg sweep. Clint goes with it, letting his body fall and using the momentum to twist his own feet around Coulson’s ankle and yank the other man down to the mat as well. There follows a moment or two of energetic grappling until Clint whoops in triumph as he gets Coulson pinned beneath him.

Coulson looks up at him with a hint of a smile as he concedes defeat. Clint barely has time to relish his victory before his mind catches up with his body and he realizes that he has Coulson pinned beneath him, the older agent’s body heaving between the archer’s thighs as he draws in lungfuls of air, his wrists pinned above his head by Clint’s strong hands. Clint looks down at Coulson’s flushed face and watches as his handler deliberately tries the strength of Clint’s hold on him. Watches as Coulson closes his eyes when he realizes he can’t break the archer’s grip and feels the shudder that goes through him. When those beautiful blue eyes open up again, they’re heavy lidded and there’s a flush along the strong column of his neck and tingeing his face that wasn’t there a moment ago. 

Clint’s mouth is desert dry and Coulson’s eyes follow his tongue as it darts out to try to moisten his lips. Clint shifts slightly to tighten his grip on Coulson’s wrists and the motion draws a low gasp from the pinned man. Clint’s own gasp is considerably louder when Coulson takes advantage of his shift to rock his hips upwards against the archer.

‘Fuck...’ he hears himself say in a breathy choked off distant kind of way. They’re both wearing cups so this is definitely not an ideal situation but Clint does not give a damn right now. Coulson is trapped beneath him and apparently loving it and that in itself is hot enough to melt all of Clint’s brain cells. 

Apparently it’s also enough to dull his senses because he doesn’t hear the sound of footsteps approaching the gym doors and it’s only when Coulson flips him onto his back and stands to offer him a hand up that Clint becomes aware that the door is opening and other agents are coming in to use the gym. Clint would happily strangle each and every one of them if he weren’t so busy thinking over the way Coulson had just gotten out of that hold. 

He looks over at his handler who is calmly gathering his gear and heading for the showers, chatting amiably to the other agents and generally looking as cool and collected as ever. He doesn’t pause or look back as he exits the gym and Clint has no idea what he’s supposed to do now, so he slumps on a bench at the side of the gym and tries to catch his breath, tries to work out what the hell is going on as he watches Henderson start to pummel a punch bag like it’s personally offended him. He thinks about heading to the range but knows his concentration is shot to hell just now so he takes another punch bag and follows Henderson’s example, tries to work out the sudden shock of abruptly stifled arousal and frustration on the bag and knowing he’ll likely fail.

~~~~~

A couple of hours later, Clint is showered and fed and still can’t rid himself of the itch under his skin that is Phil Coulson. Working out until he was physically exhausted hadn’t really helped because his traitorous mind kept replaying those all too brief mind boggling moments with Coulson in the gym. 

Company in the canteen while he ate hadn’t helped to take his mind off it either because everyone he spoke to wasn’t Coulson with his dry acerbic wit and uncanny ability to know when to talk and when to keep quiet and just let Clint be. Clint can be a dick sometimes, he knows this because plenty of people have taken the opportunity to tell him so, but even in his distracted state of mind he recognizes that it’s not the other agents fault that they’re not Coulson and he manages to extract himself from the canteen before his patience runs through and he insults anyone too badly. He hopes.

In a sudden fit of masochism he goes looking for Coulson, knowing that there’s almost no hope of a repeat of the gym scenario or of any explanation but hoping that at least being near the man will soothe the lingering desire and help him regain his composure. When he can’t find the senior agent in any of his usual haunts, Clint finally realizes that he’s behaving like a besotted idiot and decides to take himself back to his quarters to give himself a good hard pep talk about letting his dick rule his head. He shakes his head in a futile bid to physically clear his mind, angry with himself, because he’s never been the sort to pine fruitlessly, life’s too short for that, and decides that the next time he sees Coulson he’s not going to just ignore this but get some sort of answer from the man about what the hell is going on here.

He closes his eyes as he shoulders the door to his quarters closed and leans back against it with a heavy sigh. A throat clearing from the direction of his bed makes them pop wide open again even as he automatically palms a knife and drops into a crouch. 

‘Um...’ Clint tries to speak but once again the sight of Phil Coulson tied down to a bed has his brain waving a white flag and coherent speech seems to have deserted him entirely. Because that is _his_ bed that Coulson is tied onto and dear mother of everything that is holy, that is not the only difference to the last time Clint was in this situation. 

Coulson is entirely naked, not a stitch of clothing in sight. Unless you count the tie of course, which is currently wrapped around both of Coulson’s wrists and securing him firmly to the head of Clint’s bed. Clint lets his eyes rove over the rest of the other man’s body, taking in the coiled strength of it, the breadth of shoulders and chest, firm thick muscle on his stomach and the long beautifully muscular legs crossed, oh so casually, at the ankles. Clint can’t help lingering on the gloriously erect cock which seems to approve of his inspection from the way it bobs and twitches under the weight of his stare.

When he finally manages to drag his eyes away and back up to Coulson’s face he sees that it’s slightly pink but that’s the only sign of any discomfiture and given how hard the man is it could just as easily be from arousal than nerves. Coulson’s face is calm, a hint of a smile creasing the corners of his mouth and eyes. Clint decides he’s going to have to give speaking another go and tries to drag enough brain cells back online to make sense.

‘Hi,’ he manages and damn, he’s proud of how calm he sounds.

‘Hi,’ Coulson replies, ‘hope you don’t mind that I let myself in.’ 

‘Nope,’ Clint does definitely not mind that Coulson has let himself in to his quarters to wait naked for him to get back to his room, he’s still too busy being utterly bemused by it actually happening.

‘I figured we needed a little more privacy to carry on where we left off in the gym,’ Coulson says and somehow manages to shrug nonchalantly whilst tied down.

‘Of course,’ Clint replies and finds his feet are carrying him towards the bed without conscious command. He tries not to berate himself for having spent so much time wandering around the building trying to take his mind off Coulson when he could have been here ogling the man himself because how the hell could he possibly have known that this would happen.

‘Um, why now?’ he asks because it seems relevant and he’d really like to know. Another thing he’d like to know is whether this is going to be a one time only deal because he really hopes not. He could definitely get used to this.

‘Because although I appreciate the virtues of anticipation as well as the next man, it seemed in the gym as though we were finally both on the same page or at least I hope we are,’ Coulson pauses a moment, the first real sign of uncertainty he’s shown since Clint arrived but then carries on as though determined to finish. ‘And because I really, really want to feel you on top of me again, although preferably with less clothes and fewer interruptions.’

Clint, because he believes in multi-tasking when the situation calls for it and this does, strips while he talks and lets himself bask in the heat of Coulson’s gaze as more and more of his skin is revealed. 

‘Anticipation, Jesus Christ. I’ve been anticipating this since the moment I first laid eyes on you and I’m not sure it has any virtues. Especially when it takes this long to happen. Eighteen months, Coulson, I was beginning to think I’d read you completely wrong. Anticipation without result is just a tease, you know.’ He sits next to the older man on the edge of the bed and lays a tentative hand on his waist.

Coulson manages to look both impressively irritated and turned on at the same time but he presses against Clint’s touch as though he can’t help himself.

‘SHIELD may not have regular fraternization regulations, Clint, but they tend not to take too kindly to handlers who jump their assets within ten minutes of meeting them for the first time. Besides I wanted to give us a chance to get to know one another, to see if it was just going to be a one night stand that might screw up our working relationship or if there was something more to it.’ He breaks off to look Clint straight in the eyes, ‘I don’t tease, Clint, but I prefer not to jump straight into trouble.’

‘Ok, sir,’ Clint lets out a deep breath because he’d have taken one night, no doubt about it, but if he can get his hands on Phil Coulson’s stunningly gorgeous body more often then he’d jump through just about any number of hoops to do so. He lets his other hand come up to rest against Coulson’s neck, letting his thumb caress the hint of stubble below his jawline, while sliding the other hand up to his chest. ‘And the tie?’

Coulson blushes slightly, which just makes Clint want him even more though he wouldn’t have thought that was possible a second or two before.

‘Perhaps you should call me Phil in the circumstances,’ Coulson says, turning his head to take the tip of Clint’s thumb between his teeth and bite down very gently, making Clint gasp and shudder, ‘You seemed quite taken with it on that mission and I liked it, the way you looked at me. I want to feel you on me Clint, your weight on me...’ 

Whatever else he was going to say is lost, muffled when Clint finally cannot wait any longer to get his mouth on Coulson. Phil. He’s clumsy in his eagerness but it doesn’t matter, not even slightly, as Phil groans into his mouth, opening beneath him so sweetly, kissing him back with equal passion. Clint slides his hands up to cup Phil’s face as the older man presses up, trying to get more of Clint until the strain on his shoulders stops him.

Clint pulls back for air and to take in the amazing sight of Phil Coulson tied to his bed, his mouth red and wet, need and desire for Clint in his beautiful eyes. Phil’s head sags back against the bed and he gasps as Clint moves to straddle his waist, his body bucking up involuntarily and bringing his hard cock up against the crease of Clint’s ass and making them both moan.

‘God, yes,’ Clint rocks back, enjoying the sensation and the hint of moisture that says Phil’s cock is leaking already. Then he remembers how Phil had reacted to Clint pinning his wrists in the gym and what he’d said about wanting to feel Clint’s weight on top of him. He leans forward, running his hand up Phil’s rib cage, feeling his body shudder with each breath, slowing when he reaches his chest to tease at the soft hair and the peaked nipples.

‘Fuck,’ Phil gasps and strains against his bonds again, his upper body arching up as a feral smile stretches across his face.

‘Yeah, you do like that, don’t you?’ Clint murmurs as he leans down to lave Phil’s nipples with his tongue, his hands sliding up and over the straining shoulders, tracing along the shaking arm muscles until he reaches the silk wrapped around Phil’s wrists. He lifts his head and lets his full weight fall onto Phil, his strong archer’s hands squeezing and pinning the older man to the bed.

‘Clint,’ there’s a wonderful note of desperation in Phil’s voice and it’s Clint’s turn to grin as he licks and bites his way up Phil’s throat, sucking bruises and loving the growls and groans he gets in response. He finds Phil’s mouth again, swallowing the amazing noises and drowning in the sheer joy of it. 

This time when he pulls away he leans up to put his mouth against Phil’s ear to suckle gently before he asks, ‘Is this what you want Phil? You want me to hold you down and do whatever I want to you? Take it all out of your hands?’

Phil arches beneath him, his whole body bucking up off the bed as he plants both feet flat for leverage, desperate for more contact.

‘You always were too perceptive, Hawkeye,’ Phil’s voice is wrecked and god but that’s such a thrill, knowing that he’s responsible for making Phil lose control like this. Clint chuckles as he shifts to lie between Phil’s thighs but it turns into a choked off groan as their cocks brush together and he presses his face into the crook of Phil’s neck shaking with the effort not to just rut until he comes. He’s been waiting and wanting so long and he’ll be damned if he’s gonna let Phil down now and come like a teenager at the first touch.

Phil’s hands clutch at his own tie and he strains forward to press his lips to Clint’s temple, his hips roll up against Clint, seeking more friction.

‘Clint, God, I’m not going to last. Not this time. Please, Clint, please...’

Clint would be embarrassed about the whimper that slips out at hearing that but given how needy Phil sounds he doesn’t really care.

‘Yeah, Phil, it’s okay, I’ve got you. It’s okay baby, just let it go, I’ll take care of you, any way you want it,’ Clint murmurs as he slides his hand down to squeeze and stroke both their cocks together. 

Phil cries out at the sudden overload of sensation and his entire body jerks. Clint lifts his head and braces himself on his other arm to look down because he doesn’t want to miss a moment of this, wants to burn it into his memory forever to take out and marvel at later. Phil’s eyes are fixed on Clint’s face as though he’s doing exactly the same thing and suddenly Clint can’t hold back anymore. 

He drives his hips down and forward in a fast hard rhythm, delicious pressure against Phil and his hand, twists his wrist at the top and flicks his thumb across the slit of Phil’s cock. He bites his lip hard, wanting to wait, to see Phil fall apart at his touch first and he’s rewarded when Phil’s eyes widen even further and his mouth opens on a silent cry as his cock pulses and spurts between them, slicking the way for Clint to thrust hard and stifle his own loud gasping cries in Phil’s shoulder.

‘Fuck,’ he breathes when he can finally manage coherent thought again. Phil laughs breathlessly and Clint feels it through the chest under his cheek rather than hears it but it’s enough to tempt him into movement and he presses kisses to Phil’s chest and throat and finally to his mouth. Lazy, slow kisses that go on and on until Phil finally starts to shift uncomfortably and Clint realizes that the older man’s arms must be going to sleep by now.

Clint sits up, straddling Phil’s waist and laughs as they both wince at the sticky mess cooling on their stomachs.

‘Lets get you free and cleaned up,’ Clint tries not to worry about what’s going to happen now but Phil apparently knows him way too well. As Clint releases his wrists and rubs gently at the chafed skin and shaking arm muscles, Phil wraps his hands around Clint’s and brings them to his lips, pressing kisses against his knuckles.

‘Thank you.’

Clint grins and tries to fight back the urge to say too much too soon, something stupid that will show too much, how full his heart feels right now, ‘Anytime, Phil.’

‘Anytime?’ Phil grins back and it’s a wonderful look on him, lying there in Clint’s bed, all disheveled and loose limbed, ‘I might need a couple of hours but I think I’d like to take my time with you next time, find out what you taste like everywhere, what really turns you on.’

Clint nearly swallows his tongue as he’s suddenly hit with a new wave of lust but his body can’t react the way it wants to yet. He leans down for another intoxicating kiss before he clambers off the bed to grab a washcloth to clean them up. ‘So you wanna tie me up next time or are we both gonna be fully hands on?’ he calls as he goes to the tiny en-suite. 

‘Whatever you want, Clint,’ there’s a soft fond note in Phil’s voice, ‘I hope we’ll have time to try everything and anything you like, if that’s what you want?’

Clint’s smile feels like it’s going to split his face in two as he returns to the bed and hands Phil a cloth, ‘Yeah, I want, Phil. I want plenty.’

The bed in his quarters is definitely not meant for two grown men and its a bit of a struggle to get them both into a comfortable position but as he closes his eyes and buries his nose against the back of Phil’s neck, wraps his arms a little tighter around the older man, Clint’s never been more comfortable. He could definitely get used to this. He smiles as Phil shifts to press himself even closer. 

‘You realize I’m never gonna be able to look at you wearing a tie without getting hard again, right?’

Phil shakes with laughter, which has a very interesting effect when they’re pressed together so tightly, ‘I’m counting on it. Serves you right for wearing those sleeveless t-shirts all the time,’ he breaks off into a yawn, patting Clint’s hand where it rests against his own. Clint sighs and lets himself drift closer to sleep, after all it isn’t really going to be that different to how he usually is around Phil Coulson anyway.

Fin

**Author's Note:**

> This was written pretty quickly so there may be a few errors I've missed in there. Mainly I'm just pleased to have actually finished writing anything as it's been so long since I did. Hopefully I'm not too out of practice...


End file.
